


Nothing's Wrong

by Jak_the_ATAT



Series: Four Endings for Adler and Bell [3]
Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Adler is a bit psycho, Angst, Emotional Hurt, Except when Bell is injected in the eye, Guilt, Hospitalization, Lots of Angst, No elaborate descriptions of body gore i promise, Out of Character, Suicidal Thoughts, bad things happen I don't want to spoil with tags but it has to do with the body, mentions of child abuse, no comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27699902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jak_the_ATAT/pseuds/Jak_the_ATAT
Summary: BOCW SPOILERS YESDon't read if you don't want to be spoiled.Full summary inside.
Relationships: Russell Adler & Bell
Series: Four Endings for Adler and Bell [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032369
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	Nothing's Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> (Note: For the sake of this story, Bell had a revolver at the Good Ending instead of an M1911).
> 
> One year ago, Adler murdered Bell. Now, he's left to deal with the aftereffects of murdering someone who loved him.

The Smith & Wesson Model 19 revolver lay on the table. Bell's revolver. Adler didn't know why he kept it: perhaps as a trophy, perhaps as a memory.

Either way, it was a mistake.

The damned thing wouldn't leave him alone, exactly like Bell, who always followed him like a puppy. Adler kept hiding the weapon wherever the hell he could find a spot in his small house, and somehow, every time he returned home, the thing magically appeared back on the table.

He usually avoided it at all cost and either spent his life in the bedroom or bathroom, as those were the only two rooms away from the revolver. Or he never went home after work but drank and smoke until fate lead him to a place where he could sleep. However, after a year of sleepless nights, extreme reduction in productivity at work, and a churning in his stomach that refused to go away, Adler was ready to go back to normal. As much as he would like to say there are no such things as spirits in beloved objects, the revolver kept proving him otherwise. And so, he confronted it.

"You got my attention, Bell," he told the revolver, removing his glasses so nothing blocked his direct vision. Sure, the revolver looked a bit fuzzy up close. Big deal. "What's on your mind?" He stared down at the revolver, waiting for some sign. He swore he could almost see Bell sitting across from him, one hand reaching on to the table to take the weapon. If it weren't for the translucence coating Bell's body, Adler was sure could have reached out and touched a solid Bell.

But nothing happened.

Adler sighed. Of course nothing happened. It's a goddamned revolver. Not a fucking retriever. It wouldn't do anything alone.

 _'What are you doing, Russell?'_ Bell's broken and tired voice echoed in his head. _'You've been talking to yourself more and more frequently, and now you're talking to a weapon.'_ Bell grimaced and looked down towards the revolver. _'You're losing it...'_

"I'm not fucking losing it," Adler shot back, only to realize Bell was gone. If he concentrated hard enough, Bell returned for Adler to cuss out, but it didn't change the fact that his imagination had become so powerful it could manifest the youngster out of thin air and remember how the Perseus agent crafted every word with great precision to compensate for an accent. 

Adler sighed and pirouetted the revolver on its side. "Bell, if you can hear me, give me some sign. Please." _'I'm not crazy... I'm not crazy..."_

Once again, Adler's voice reached none but his own ears. What did he need to do to summon spirits? Light some candles? Build a shrine? Draw a pentagon?

He could almost feel Bell breathing down his neck. The motherfucker wouldn't leave him alone, and he wouldn't answer the damned question. "Say something, dammit!" Adler slammed his fists on the table, making the revolver hop. A lock of hair fell into his eyes. "Tell me what you want from me!"

 _'Stop it, Russell,'_ Bell's voice begged in his head. _'You can't change the past. And you can't change Bell's future.'_

"I know that!" Adler seized the revolver and threw it across the room. Part of him hoped it would fire when it hit the wall and take him out, but once again the revolver did exactly as he should expect: it bounced off the wall and clattered to the floor.

And yet, somehow, throwing it calmed him down. Enough so, that he could feel a single tear slipping down his cheek. Adler quickly wiped it way and pushed his hair back, his father's voice swirling around in the back of his head. _'Stop crying. Crying's for women.'_

He staggered over the revolver. The cylinder had become dislodged. Adler carefully picked the weapon up and opened it to find a single bullet in it. He didn't need to see clearly with glasses to feel a filling in the casing.

A scoff escaped Adler's lips. "You were _t_ _his_ confident you'd kill me in one bullet." He shook his head and replaced the bullet, snapping the cylinder back in. "Bell, you're a lot of things, but having consistent common sense isn't one of them."

A bubble swelled up in his chest, aching until he finally let it out. Adler laughed, first quietly and gradually working up to maniac. The same lock of hair came loose. "You're an idiot, Bell!" He shouted to no one in particular. "You knew too much! You'd never be able to keep secrets! You had to die!" He hooked his fingers around the revolver and began rolling it through his fingers.

_'Russell, you've gone crazy.'_

Adler froze. Before him stood translucent Bell, worry on his face.

"I'm not crazy. I'm a fucking genius."

 _'This isn't the Russell I know. Look at yourself.'_ Bell gestured towards the right.

Adler followed Bell's finger until his eyes landed on the window.

All he saw his father looking back.

The revolver felt heavy in his hand. A quick glance towards it revealed it had transformed into an M1917, the same one his father pulled out every time he was drunk. Adler remembered every detail of that damned M1917 too well. After all, how could he not when his father held it against his head, demanding for obedience?

Adler dropped the revolver onto the table, shaking. Upon impact, the revolver became a Model 19 again, but the sensation of the M1917's grip remained burned into Adler's hand. Bell stood near the table, lips pursed.

"I'm sorry, Bell," croaked Adler, his eyes starting to throb and his nose beginning to tingle. _'Don't cry, don't cry...'_

 _'And you should be.'_ That wasn't Bell's voice. That was his own.

His imagination rebuilt the cliff of Bell's demise. He watched himself readying his M1911, telling Bell "It was never personal." He felt his feet shuffling until he had the perfect angle on Bell. Bell's revolver sat clear in sight in his holster, and it never got its chance to be drawn as Adler's M1911's barrel aimed down towards the wide-eyed youngster.

"Adler..?" Bell whimpered just moments before the bullet let loose from the M1911. In that moment, Adler realized Bell still thought they were friends. But it was too late to stop a moving bullet. 

The scene disappeared as quickly as it built. The only thing remained were Bell's horrified eyes, which were permanently branded into Adler's brain.

Adler pushed his hair back in place again. "Bell, you've been on my mind ever since I killed you." If Bell had any thoughts or comments--or was even here--Adler didn't hear them. "I've used MK Ultra on a lot of people. Most have worked for the greater good. When I elected to run MK Ultra on you, I didn't think you'd be any different." He wandered over to the table and sat down, pulling the revolver towards him. "Now, I realize I'm the idiot.

"For the longest time, I couldn't figure out why I kept reliving bringing you to that cliff. What made you so different from everyone else." Adler spun the cylinder, waiting until it stopped before continuing. "And then I realized: all the other people under MK Ultra, they simply worked with me. Nothing special. You? You wouldn't settle for colleague. You interpreted those fake memories to mean I was your best friend."

He sighed again. "After you found the truth, you still worked on my side. You're a good kid." Adler raised the barrel to his chin, letting the front sight dig into his skin. "But I guess it doesn't fucking matter what I say now, does it?" He pulled the trigger.

Just a click.

Should he be mad or happy he survived?

He chuckled again as he lowered the revolver. "I really have gone crazy since your death, haven't I? So much for 'it was never personal.'" He wound the cylinder again, raising the barrel to the side of his head.

The revolver snapped alive.

* * *

Adler awoke in a hospital. He couldn't see straight but it didn't take a genius to tell where he was. Far too many times he spent on hospitals from doing stupid shit on his missions. And every time he did, Sims visited him, scolding, "Man, you gotta remember you ain't gonna bounce back as easily anymore."

In the corner, Bell stood against the wall, expressionless. _'Russell... why did you do it..?'_ Bell asked.

"Am I dead..?" God, it hurt to talk.

Bell went to answer, but instead chose otherwise as the door opened and Sims stormed in, followed quickly by Hudson. "You really that fucked up you wanna kill yourself?" Sims demanded.

"Adler, you've got a lot of explaining to do," huffed Hudson.

 _'What..? Why are they here..?'_ "Am I dead..?"

Sims scoffed and cross his arms. "No, you ain't dead yet. You're damn lucky your neighbor's a nurse and heard the shot go off!"

 _'I thought I locked the door..?'_ "I'm... alive..?"

"Yes," Hudson said. "But you'll be retiring. You're paralyzed from the neck down." The two men shook their heads in disbelief in unison.

"The fuck were you thinking?" Sims' voice cracked as he spoke.

_'How the fuck am I alive..?'_

Bell moved and Adler glanced towards him, making Sims and Hudson do the same, though they frowned when they saw nothing. Meanwhile, Adler watched as Bell drew the Model 19 and walked the bedside table, opening the drawer and placing the revolver inside. Bell waved a quick goodbye before disappearing.

"What are you looking at?" Hudson's voice cut Adler's thoughts off.

As well of emotions hit Adler as he realized he had been that fucking unlucky to survive a gunshot to the head. There was no escaping his guilt for murdering Bell and so many others so heartlessly. There was no way Bell could forgive him because Adler kept dragging that dammed weapon around in hopes that Bell would take him out. Nothing could bring penance for every crime America's Monster committed without second thought.

"Russ, what's wrong?" Hudson asked again, his voice softer this time.

Adler looked up into the eyes of his two friend, his vision obscured as tears streamed down his face. "Nothing's wrong."

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I kinda took Adler out of character here. I think he would probably feel no remorse for killing Bell, but what's an angst story without dragging characters through pain am I right??
> 
> Well, I'm almost done with the square of endings: Bell survives, both dies, and Adler survives. Just gotta come up with both living and the square is complete.


End file.
